


First

by PengyChan



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Humor, M/M, Making Out, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7870636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PengyChan/pseuds/PengyChan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Full access to one’s mind comes with a few downsides, like stumbling on private fantasies the All Seeing Eye could have lived without ever having to see. Not that they’re not kind of flattering. And really, there’s a first time for everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First

**Author's Note:**

> Have I ever mentioned before that I am BillFord trash.  
> I had forgotten to post this here, so I'm fixing that. Go ahead for pre-betrayal BillFord. Includes some making out and Ford being a smitten fanboy. Sort of.

 

There were times when Bill would not show himself the moment Ford fell asleep and opened his eyes in the Mindscape. Sometimes he had to find him and, more often than not, it was almost as a game: his mind was vast and Bill full of tricks, and sometimes Ford would follow his laugh for what felt like forever before he found his Muse.

This time, however, Bill was not hiding. He found him before one of the floating doors that opened in the vastness of his mindscape, looking inside at something Ford couldn’t see from that angle, arms hanging limply in the air. A bit _too_ limply, so that was something Ford should have probably picked up - but he did not, and called out.

“Bill?”

Three things happened in quick succession, none of them expected. First, Bill _screeched_. Second, Bill slammed the door shut and whirled around to look at him like a hare caught in the headlights. And third, Bill blurted out something on how nice the weather was in the cyberspace and hey, had he ever told him that fun story about Orion’s belt?

He hadn’t, but Ford’s attention as entirely taken by the door he had been looking into. “What is there?” he asked, frowning. What could it be, to unsettle even his Muse to that point?

“Nothing,” Bill said quickly, trying to grab his shoulder and take him away. “So, it was a Tuesday, and-- hey! No!”

Ford’s natural curiosity had put him in uncomfortable situations before, but as he stared at what was happening inside that room - the images floating around, showing _various_ things going on - he knew instantly that this was going to take the cake.

Slowly, Ford closed the door again. His gaze fell, too late, on the small brass plaque on it.

_Shameful fantasies. KEEP OUT_.

“So, uh. Still. Still want to hear that funny story?”

Stanford Pines opened his mouth. He closed it. Opened it again. Made no sound, and felt heat creeping across his face and down his neck. Then, finally, “This is not what it looks like.”

“As I was saying, it was a Tuesday and-- whoa, wait. Wait. Did I just seriously hear you say _that_ of all things?” he heard Bill saying. “If you can explain what _else_ that is supposed to be, I swear you’re even more of a genius than I though! Or are you just _reaaally_ passionate about geometry?”

Ford let out a groan, sliding down on the non-existent floor, back to the door, and covered his burning face with his hands. “You shouldn’t have looked…!” was all he managed, unable to look up.

“I know that now! Uuugh. Gonna need some hydrofluoric acid for my eye,” Bill said, and Ford dared to peer up at him through his fingers to see that he was rubbing his eye with both hands. “Don’t know what I was expecting to see there, but that was not it! I mean, sure - I’m pretty amazing and the snazziest sentient triangle around, but I didn’t think you were really getting hot under the collar over anything other than my immense knowledge and all that jazz. That’s… kinda flattering, really,” he added, and stopped rubbing his eye. He blinked a couple of times, as though just hit by a realization. “Yup. Weird. But flattering.”

Ford groaned again and closed his eyes. “Why did you _have_ to look?”

“Hey, Brainiac? All Seeing Eye here. What else would I _do_?”

“... Fair point,” Ford mumbled into his hands. “I’m… oh, God.”

“You can call me Bill,” was the reply, suddenly a lot closer, and there was a touch - tiny hands resting on his own, impossibly soft. “C’mon, enough with the shy act. Wasn’t anywhere near shy back there,” he pointed out, and it took Ford an almost inhuman effort not to groan again. Bill pushed his hands down, off his face, so that he’d look at him - something that made his whole face feel as though it was on fire.

“Bill…”

“Thaaaat’s better,” Bill said. His hands reached to rest on Ford’s face, and his eye seemed to crinkle with amusement. His thumbs brushed over the slight stubble on his cheeks. “So, what is it you find _that_ irresistible?”

The plea to just let him wake up and forget all that he had seen was almost out of Ford’s lips when it was drown out by rather undignified sputtering. “I… what?” he managed, dimly wondering whether or not he was dreaming it all. Well, he was _certainly_ dreaming it either way, but maybe it was all a figment of his imagination and nothing more than that. Maybe Bill wasn’t truly there.

If only he could really believe it.

“What, got hearing problems now?” Bill asked, rolling his eye. “If you’ve got the hots for me, there’s gotta be a reason. Is it the natural elegance? The amazing wit? The perfect angles? My eyelashes?” he added, batting his eye. “Or was it another talking, sentient triangle who stole your heart?”

Laughter, or something remarkably close to it, left Ford’s nose in a painful-sounding honk. He had no idea one could be so ashamed and amused at the same time, but apparently it was perfectly possible. “I… I… oh God, I…!”

“C’mon, Sixer! I’ve been giving you the answers to so many questions - surely you can answer this one?” Bill said, and batted his eyelashes again.

Ford swallowed, but did not try to pull back. He didn’t want to, because it would mean forfeiting the touch on his face. “You… you must think I am a freak.”

“I _know_ you are a freak. Which is just another word for extraordinary, anyhow,” Bill said, eye still fixed on him, and gave that odd one-eyed wink Ford had gotten used to by now. “How long have you had this, er. _Thing_ going on?”

His mouth felt dry as a desert when Ford answered in a whisper. “... It’s been months, now.”

“Oh?”

“At… at least six months. I’m not sure how it started, it’s… it’s just…” Ford paused, struggling for words, struggling and failing to gather his thoughts in a way that made sense. But how could he? Nothing about the situation made the slightest amount of sense. Nothing about that… infatuation of his made sense. “It’s just you. All about you. How you chose me to be my friend - my _Muse_ \- and all the help--” he began, but trailed off when Bill’s hand moved from his cheek to his lips, silencing him.

“ _Your_ Muse,” he repeated, eye half-lidded, and Ford could only nod - not too hard, though, because he didn’t want Bill to move his hand away. A thumb brushed over his lips. “Well. Got to say I am surprised. I mean, I’ve come across devotion before, and there was one creep back in Greece at one point who… nah, scratch that. You don’t wanna know,” Bill added, and Ford could have sworn he had shuddered for a moment before talking again. “From you, though? Can’t say I mind,” he added, and let his hand slide off Ford’s mouth - except that Ford grasped it without thinking, and pressed it against his lips again.

_My blessed Muse_.

He dared look up at Bill again, lips still pressed against his palm, to see that he was staring at him with his eye widened. Then he laughed - his usual, shrill laugh - and spoke… but without pulling his hand back. His other hand found its way in Ford’s hair, tousling it.

“Well, whoa. You know your way to a Muse’s heart,” he said, and hovered lower, until he was resting on Ford’s legs. “The setting ain’t the best, though. Got to do something about that,” he added, and everything around them shifted and changed within a blink. Ford looked around to see he was no longer sitting on a non-existent floor before the door guarding his most secret fantasies: he was in his home, resting on the couch, with fire roaring in the fireplace and snow falling out of the window. The perfect winter setting, all in all.

Except that he was shirtless and Bill… Bill…  was he making angels on his chest?

“... Huh. Bill?” Ford called out, lifting himself up on his elbows.

“Couldn’t resist, smart guy. You’re all fuzzy,” Bill said, then pushed himself up to almost Ford’s collar bone and propped himself up on his elbows as well, tilting his body back to look up at him. His legs kicked in the air. “Besides, those holiday sweaters you thought up were tacky. Everything else is just like you imagined, right?”

Ford nodded, face aflame. That was, indeed, the setting of one of his fantasies… one of the relatively tame ones, to his relief. “I… yes.”

“Good,” Bill said, and blinked innocently up at him. Or, at least, Ford supposed innocence was what he was trying to convey, without much success. “So, go on. What now? Are you gonna draw me like one of your French girls?”

Ford blinked. “My… what?” he asked, and his confusion was met with a laugh.

“Ooh, right! Still a decade and something to go before that is a thing, huh?” Bill said, drawing an abstract pattern over Ford’s collarbone. “Never mind that. Besides, there’s already that drawing of me on your diary. Don’t think it quite captured my best side, but hey. Still pretty good. At least you _did_ say I’m a total gentleman.”

“That’s-- that’s a _Journal_ , and it is… I...” Ford sputtered, his face hot once again, but Bill lifted himself up in a sitting position and placed a hand on his mouth, again.

“Hey now, I was just complimenting the artist. Learn to take a compliment,” he said, and scooted up until his eye was right before his face, his hands resting on Ford’s cheeks. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. “So. Remember how this plays out?”

He did, and it made him feel somewhat faint. Was Bill truly planning to play along with his fantasy? He barely dared believe it - and part of him was still so, so ashamed he had seen it all in the first place. “Yes,” was all he managed to say.

“Up for it, then?” Bill asked, then frowned. “You’re gonna have to lead, though. Never tried it.”

Ford blinked for a couple of moments before what he had just heard sank in. “... Never tried it?”

“Nope.”

“But… but you’re as old as entire galaxies!”

“Hey, I am a busy guy!” Bill protested, crossing his arms. “Got meaningful stuff to do. Sheesh, if anything you should be glad you’re the first!”

_The first._

The thought made Ford feel somewhat lightheaded. “I… sorry. I’m… I don’t have much experience myself,” he found himself saying, his voice weak, and Bill chuckled.

“Heh! Can’t say I’m surprised, really. Guess we’re gonna figure it out along the way, then,” he said, and turned his eye in a mouth within a blink. Ford had seen him doing so multiple times, usually to drink something during one of their chess games, and the swift change had never ceased to fascinate him.

Except that, this time, the change hadn’t been made for Bill to sip tea.

“Ready?” Bill asked, leaning forward.

“No,” Ford said, and kissed him anyway.

What little experience he had of kissing was with humans, obviously enough, and it did little to nothing to prepare Ford for what was to follow. Bill’s mouth wasn’t like a human's - it was more rounded, narrow and shallow; his tongue seemed too long and warmer than any human’s, and his teeth were _sharp_. He found it was easier to let him lead after all, let his tongue in and keep his own well away from his teeth - and it turned out not to be a problem at all, because Bill was eager to the point of being _greedy_.

He pressed himself closer, clenched his hands in Ford’s hair, and ran his tongue across his whole mouth - his teeth, the insides of his cheeks, the roof of his mouth, beneath Ford’s tongue and across it. His taste was not quite human, either: it was somewhat metallic, and for a moment if made Ford think of blood. As long as he was able to _think_ , anyway.

_I am the first. The very first_.

“Good?” Bill asked, pulling back, and Ford gave a breathless chuckle.

“Good,” he rasped. “Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t going to.”

It went on and on and on for an undefined amount of time - if time had any reason to be in the Mindscape. It felt like hours and days, and Ford had no complaints at all.

Not even when he felt Bill’s teeth nipping at his lip.

* * *

“Got to hand it to you, IQ - that was a lot of fun. I’ve been missing out.”

Ford let out a small hum, tilting his head back to let Bill’s tongue caress his throat, catching a few drops of blood. He had been biting and sucking marks on him and Ford found himself wishing they would remain upon awakening, a tangible mark of what had happened, of what he had been able to share with his Muse - the first, his very _first._

“Anytime,” he found himself murmuring, and felt Bill’s mouth grin against the heartbeat in his throat.

“Is there anything you’d deny me, Fordsy?” he asked. A tiny, soft hand drew abstract patterns on his shoulder.

“No,” Ford blurted out, the truth of it burning on his lips. His gaze fell on the fire burning away in the fireplace, not having dimmed away in the slightest, on the snow that still fell outside. “Nothing.”

There was something, a movement against his skin that felt a lot like Bill had just _shivered_ , and then something appeared on him - on them both - from thin air: a heavy, woollen blanket.

“Not bad. Warm and toasty without the tackiness,” Bill said from beneath the blanket, and Ford felt arms, now unnaturally long, reaching up to lace themselves around his neck. “Was snoozing part of your little fantasy, too?” Bill asked. “Not that we can _really_ snooze here, but still.”

Ford smiled and reached up to place a hand on Bill through the blanket. He was resting right over his heart. He brushed his thumb across him in a caress and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of burning wood.

“It is now.”


End file.
